


Lonely Weekend Without You

by stilinskitrash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Break Up, F/M, Hookups, Kissing, Minor Becho, Short & Sweet, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 07:17:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18310811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskitrash/pseuds/stilinskitrash
Summary: Bellamy still felt a pang of loneliness. He glanced a look at Monty slow dancing with a cute brunette, and thought ‘I had that’.But she was gone.(AKA Bellamy attends his little sisters wedding and reflects on what could have been.)





	Lonely Weekend Without You

**Author's Note:**

> this has been in my drafts for MONTHS so i finished it off and im posting it so i’m FREE of it i’m sorry the ending isn’t that good but i hope u enjoy this lil thing anyway i love angst

Bellamy was happy for Octavia. He really was.

 

Sure, it wouldn’t have been  _ his  _ choice to get married at 20, but she was an adult (as much as that thought scared him) and she had a right to make her own decisions. And Lincoln didn’t seem  _ too  _ bad.

 

He had stood at the side of the altar as she walked down the aisle of a tiny, falling down church in the middle of nowhere, desperately trying not to tear up. Lincoln was to his right, unable to control a grin at the sight of his beautiful bride. After the ceremony, they’d moved into the huge tent outside of church, where food and drink had been prepared and Bellamy was obliged to give a speech he just about got through.

 

Fairy lights hung on the canopies glowed warmly, people laughed and hugged and kissed, and Bellamy found himself sat alone. Everywhere he looked, there were couples. Even Monty and Jasper had dates; Murphy was sidling up to a bridesmaid, Raven was sat at her table chatting cheerily to a girl with a mane of dark curls. He was sure Miller had snuck off somewhere with his current boyfriend Bryan, and so by default, Bellamy was by himself. 

 

The Blake’s didn’t have many relatives to invite, or at least ones they  _ wanted  _ to reach out to. Bellamy’s dad had been AWOL for about 20 years, and Octavia’s dad was a deadbeat who Bellamy wouldn’t let within five feet of them. Their mother was gone. They had an a maternal aunt they’d met once who lived in New York somewhere, and Bellamy had a few cousins in the Philippines that sent him a birthday card every once in a while. Lincoln was in a similar position, estranged from his family. No, their wedding guests were made up of the family they’d found; the family they’d created out of friends and lovers and strangers.

 

Bellamy still felt a pang of loneliness. He glanced a look at Monty slow dancing with a cute brunette, and thought  _ I had that _ .

 

But she was gone. 

 

Clarke Griffin had been invited to Octavia and Lincoln’s union despite his insistence that she probably wouldn’t be free to come, what with her shifts at the hospital. And she hadn’t turned up, which made Bellamy feel a disconcerting mix of disappointment and relief. Relief, because he was working through convincing himself that he was over her, and disappointment because he definitely wasn’t.

 

After all, it’s kind of hard to get over someone you were ready to spend the rest of your life with.

 

All around him, people were moving ahead with their lives in ways Bellamy couldn’t bring himself to. Jasper was at peace with how things ended with Maya, Raven had broken things off with Finn and was happier than ever, Octavia was  _ married _ . What was wrong with him? Was he broken? There were so many beautiful women at the wedding; people Octavia knew from college and work and Lincoln’s friends, and he hadn’t missed the passes and looks some of them had been throwing him all night. 

 

He looked out into the crowd of faces and saw blonde hair and blue eyes and perpetually paint stained clothes and a smile that favoured the left side of her face. 

 

“You look like you need this.”

 

Bellamy jumped at the sound of a voice beside him, a hand close to his face holding out a glass of red wine. He stared confusedly at the woman, who had her brow raised a him in proposition.

 

“Uh,” he took the glass from her with uncertainty. Maybe alcohol was what he needed right now. “Thanks.” His voice came out gruffer than he intended, but the woman wasn’t phased by his demeanour and took a chair beside him.

 

Her hair was a mousy brown, slightly dreaded and plaited sporadically in a variety of ways. Black eyeliner circled hazel eyes and matched her tight cocktail dress. 

 

“I’m Echo,” she answered without prompt, “you’re Bellamy, right?”

 

He nodded tightly. Echo seemed to be waiting for Bellamy to say something in reply, but he wasn’t particularly in the mood for small talk. Instead, he took a big swig of his newly acquired wine.

 

“I’m Lincoln’s friend,” she filled in, as if he’d asked. “Why are you by yourself, and not dancing like the others?”

 

Bellamy frowned, “I could say the same for you.” 

 

“I don’t really know anyone, and I’m not a great people person.” she shrugged, drinking her own cocktail. “Besides, you looked interesting. Was I wrong to assume that?” 

 

It sounded like a challenge. “I’m not gonna ask you to dance.” He dismissed, turning back to the dancing couples.

 

Echo laughed shortly, “as  _ if  _ you can dance. You don’t look the type.”

 

God, she was  _ really  _ getting on his nerves. He  _ could  _ fucking dance. If he wanted to. Memories of drunken karaoke nights and evenings in dingy discos flickered through his mind as if playing on a projector reel. In all of them Clarke was beside him.

 

Bellamy looked down to distract himself and found that his wine was already gone. He definitely needed another drink.

 

They walked together to the bar, where they stayed for far too long until Bellamy was far too drunk. He wasn’t even sure why he hung around with Echo after her initial rudeness, she was brash and sometimes crude, but made a good drinking partner. 

 

As soon as he was coaxed into doing shots of Jaeger bombs, he knew he was a goner. The after wedding party was dying down, people passing out on chairs or leaving for their hotels, when Bellamy found himself crammed into a toilet cubicle inside the church with Echo. It was all  _ kinds _ of wrong.

 

Bellamy wasn't using his head, he didn't want to. Echo was there and she was into him and feisty and attractive and he was halfway there to convincing himself he really wanted this. He hadn't gotten much action since Clarke left except for the occasional club hookups (rebounds), and they'd split nearly three months ago. 

 

Echo was fiercely dominating, their kisses made with teeth and clawing at skin. He was backed up against the toilet roll dispenser when her palm slipped down to undo his pants, and Bellamy froze up. She stopped abruptly, looking up into his face wrought with confusion.

 

“What's wrong?” She demanded, taking a step back in what little space they had. “Are you not into me?”

 

His brow creased frustratedly, “I'm sorry, you're just-”

 

“If you want to stop just say it.”

 

Silence. Echo chewed her bottom lip as her eyebrows knitted together, and she subconsciously folded her arms across her bare chest.

 

“ _ Bellamy _ -”

 

“I should go.”

 

She let him. Bellamy hardly stopped to think – he was tired of overthinking– as he barrelled out of the bathroom, through the church, past the party and towards his car. But not before face planting into John Murphy in the car park.

 

“Jesus, Blake. You're a fucking wall. What've you been eating?” Murphy groaned as he rubbed his head, sore from the connection of their skulls.

 

He really wasn't in the mood for Murphy’s snark. “Out of my way, Murphy.” He groaned, Murphy blocking his path.

 

“Leaving your own sisters wedding so soon? What could ever be more important?” The sarcasm lacing his voice was like nails on a chalkboard to Bellamy at that moment. Not to mention the alcohol on his breath. “Unless the princess is in trouble, I suppose?”

 

His eyes whipped back to Murphy focusedly, who grinned at the reaction he'd gotten. 

 

“Ah, she  _ is _ . Then run along, dear knight! That's if she even wants to see you.” He chuckled sloppily, Bellamy elbowing past him abruptly.

 

“Fuck you, Murphy.” Bellamy called back without really any spite at all. Most of his spite was aimed directly at himself. 

 

“Love you too, Blake!”

 

He caught a last glance back at his sister in the tent – wrapped up in her new husband's arms, the certainty of security and safety softening her features – before stumbling over to his car. 

 

Bad idea.

 

If he'd had any sense, Bellamy would have hitched a lift. He was supposed to be the voice of sensibility; he didn't  _ drink drive _ . He was more often the sober driver at events if anything. By some god fated miracle, he managed to make it all the way to the other side of town, on a Saturday evening, unscathed (physically).

 

And there it was, the white painted apartment.  _ The _ apartment. Her apartment.

 

There was absolutely no rational excuse for his turning up there. Clarke might not even be in. His mind was wrapped up in wondering why they'd ended, when he’d imagined a day like today between them a hundred times in the moments between her laugh and the way she held his gaze.

 

Fate be damned, Clarke Griffin stepped out of the apartment complex as if summoned by his own thoughts. She was clutching a trash bag, dressed in an oversized sweatshirt, yellow shorts and mismatched socks. Earbuds meant her attention didn't pick up on Bellamy standing on her sidewalk.

 

She swirled her body around gently, lips mouthing along to whatever she was listening to, and her eyes fell on him for no longer than a second before Bellamy was surging forward.

 

“ _ Bell _ ,” she swore, instinctively taking a step back. He stopped a few feet short of her, at the bottom of the steps leading up to her apartment building, tugging restlessly at the sleeves of his wedding attire.

 

God, it was already too much. “I'm sorry. Shit, this was a bad idea. I’m disturbing you--I practically snuck up on you. I should go.” the words tumbled out. He couldn’t bring himself to look into her eyes to gather her reaction. 

 

Clarke pulled out her earbuds and let them hang off the neck of her shirt. “What are you doing here, Bellamy?”

 

“Uh,” he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, “it was O’s thing--her wedding.”

 

She nodded slowly. “Yeah.” 

 

“You weren’t there.” he wasn’t accusatory, but red seeped into Clarke’s cheeks.

 

“ _ Yeah _ .” she breathed, “I… it was a bit much. I love Octavia, but I just wasn’t sure if I could handle it, you know?”

 

_ Not handle it? Clarke?  _ But Bellamy had always been under the impression that she was the put together one, the one who was better at moving on and up. Clarke looked embarrassed now, leaving him at a loss for words.

 

“I thought you were over us.” he admitted candidly.

 

She stared at him as if he’d just slapped her. “You thought  _ I  _ was over us? Jesus, Bellamy.” her laugh was laced with sarcasm. “You know Jasper and Monty have been filling me in on your hookups? Not that I asked; they just can’t keep their mouths shut. From where I’m standing,  _ you’re  _ over us.”

 

This was not how Bellamy had expected this confrontation to go. “You’re  _ not  _ over us?” was all he could manage to say.

 

Clarke rolled her eyes exasperatedly, taking a few steps down the stairs closer to him. “What does it matter, Bell? I couldn’t face you at the O’s wedding today because I don’t trust myself around you. And we’ve hardly spoken, I didn’t know if you’d really moved on or not and going to the wedding seemed like playing with fire, which I  _ know  _ is selfish. I really owe Octavia big time.”

 

“Why did we break up, Clarke?” Bellamy blurted, hating how close she was and how he couldn’t reach out to her.

 

Her face fell into a silent frown. She had a habit of playing with her hands when she was anxious, wringing them continuously. 

 

A few beats, and she looked up at him with a pained expression. “We weren’t good for each other.” 

 

“And what, we’re better off apart?”  _ Cause I’m not _ .

 

Clarke was only a step in front of him now, making her closer to him in height. If he were to reach out, he could wrap his hands around her waist, bring her against his chest, kiss her cheeks and her neck and her--

 

“No.” she admitted suddenly, chewing her lip.

 

“We’ve grown and changed in the time we spent apart, Clarke. And I’ve realised I can’t… I can’t  _ function _ without you. I can’t go about my life knowing you’re not there to come home to, to go out with, to watch dumb movies with and kiss and be there for.”

 

Her palms pressed firmly against his chest, and he couldn’t work out whether she was keeping him there or pushing him away.

 

“I don’t want to hear about your next hookup.” 

 

Bellamy didn’t respond. He was staring at the curve of her lips, the way he could see them flinch as if she were about to smile. He knew her quirks and tells so well, it both excited and pained him.

 

“I don’t want a next hookup.” He finally told her, reaching out to touch her cheek.

 

Clarke surged into him, limbs wrapping around his body as her lips latched onto his. It was a desperate flurry. She tasted so good, he thought ecstatically, she tasted like home. She smelt like it too, like acrylic paint over all her clothes, like the parchment paper she used for drawing out designs, like the chemicals from a long shift at the hospital, like the pinewood air freshener she worshipped. 

 

With her legs around his torso, he carries her up the stairs and into her apartment, remembering the way around like he’d only left yesterday. Clarke smiled against his lips infectiously, and he had to take a moment to pull back and take her all in.

 

“I missed you.” he sighed, forehead resting against hers as they stopped outside her door.

 

Her face scrunched up like she was embarrassed, but she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “I think we’ll always find our way back to each other. For better or worse.”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> follow my writing twitter [cvbeswaters](https://twitter.com/cvbeswaters) or on tumblr at [stacygwehn](https://stacygwehn.tumblr.com)


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